


The Wrongness of Ezra Z. Fell and Anthony J. Crowley's Lives

by boredom



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Anxiety, Bodyswap, Depression, Fluff, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Love, Love finds a way, M/M, Self-Destruction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2020-05-30 21:41:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19411951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boredom/pseuds/boredom
Summary: Faced with an angel immune to hellfire and a demon immune to holy water, Heaven and Hell are forced to get creative to ensure Crowley and Aziraphale won’t give them any more problems. This time, they aren't taking any chances. This time, Aziraphale and Crowley will be separated from each other and from Heaven and Hell forever.*Some slurs are used. Don't be a bigot, kids.





	1. Chapter 1

What is he?” Uriel asked. 

Gabriel could tell they were trying to put on a brave face, but there was a slight tremor in their voice. He himself could barely stop shaking. Aziraphale was still, undoubtedly, an angel. He would be able to tell if he was a demon, mostly because he would have had to sign off on the paperwork to make him Fall. Also, demons had a certain aura around them, something any angel would have easily been able to sense. Gabriel still sensed Aziraphale’s light. He still sensed his… purity for lack of a better term. 

Aziraphale smiled at him, smug as ever. 

“Change of plans.” He said, rushing forward. 

Aziraphale’s smile dropped and he opened his mouth to say something. Whatever it was, Gabriel didn’t give him a chance. He summoned all the power available to him in Heaven and snapped his fingers. Aziraphale’s eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed to the ground, his body still half-way in the hellfire. 

“Get the imp back in here to put this out,” Gabriel commanded. He couldn’t even see a smudge on Aziraphale’s skin. 

Sandalphon rushed past him to the doors. The imp came back, eyes widening when they realized Aziraphale hadn’t been burned. 

“I swear, that’s hellfire. I swear.” The imp was shaking and backing away. 

Gabriel didn’t know if it was stupid to trust him or not. “I don’t care, just put out the fire so we can get to him.” 

They stumbled forward and contained it back in their hands. “What happened? Why isn’t he extinct?” 

Before Gabriel had a chance to answer (not that he could. He didn’t understand the situation himself) the door opened and Michael came running in. 

“We have a problem!” 

“Let me guess, the demon Crowley is immune to holy water?” 

He should have never let Aziraphale stay on Earth for so long. Especially not when he was alone to deal with that snake. That demon had done something to him, something that Gabriel was afraid was irreversible. 

“How did you--” She stopped and gaped at him lying on the floor. “Both of them?” 

Gabriel glared at the imp. “Unless Hell was lying to us, but I don’t think they’d really want one parties responsible for stopping Armageddon to get off scot free.” 

“What do we do?” Uriel asked. “We can’t just let them go!” 

“I think that’s exactly what Hell is planning to do,” Michael said. “He terrifies them.” 

Gabriel bit his knuckle and stared down at Aziraphale’s body. “We can’t let them go. If this gets out that we let two traitors off without punishment…”

“It’ll start a riot,” Sandalphon said. 

“We can’t keep him here,” Michael snapped. “If he can survive hellfire, just imagine what else he can do.” 

Gabriel had thought he was doing Aziraphale a service. Extinction by hellfire would ensure he didn’t Fall. If he Fell, he would fall right into the arms of demons. And demons wouldn’t be kind to the angel who had stopped Armageddon. He had to think of something. What else could he do?

“Gabriel? What do we do?” Uriel asked. 

“We make it so they can’t bother us again. Or each other. If they’re separated, they won’t cause trouble for us. They won’t feed off each other.” 

“Yes,” Michael hissed, “but how do we do that?” 

“Get the demon Crowley up here, now. And anyone else who wants to witness this. If we can’t kill them, we’ll just have to get creative.”

Once again, he focused all the powers of Heaven, briefly wondered if he needed to fill out paperwork with the Metatron before doing this, decided he could ask for forgiveness later, and snapped his fingers. 

oOoOoOo

Ezra Zachary Fell awoke to an annoying ringing of his alarm. There was an echo of something in the back of his head, almost like the remnants of a dream fading to be completely forgotten the moment his eyes opened. 

He tried to catch the remnants and piece together what his dream had been about, but the alarm seemed to be getting louder and he couldn’t concentrate. Oh well, dreams were useless anyways. 

He rolled over and slammed his hand down on the button. The sound cut. 

He couldn’t explain why, but everything felt wrong. He was in his bookshop, yes, but it didn’t feel like his bookshop. It felt familiar, but it wasn’t his bookshop. It was someone else’s. But, he couldn’t figure out who else had owned it before him. Well, his grandfather Alexander Zachary Fell, but that didn’t feel right either. 

He also had a splitting headache. 

“For fuck’s sake, everything is awful and I am dying.” He ran a hand down his face. 

“Why did I decide to run a bookshop? I don’t even like reading.” He rolled out of bed and went to make breakfast. 

“Is whiskey a proper breakfast?” he asked no one in particular. “I think it’s got protein in it, so it counts.” 

Why did he have the strangest desire to water his plants? He didn’t own plants. He had never owned plants. Well, once, when he was ten he got a cactus that he promptly killed for overwatering it. 

Ezra decided a hard no on the whiskey for breakfast and instead made himself black coffee. 

“As black as my soul.” He sat in the small kitchenette and tried not to think too hard. If he thought to hard, or focused for too long, the impending sense of wrongness would crush him.

His stomach was already lurching and twisting uncomfortably. Everything around him felt off. A bookshop that he had grown up in, that he had played in, that he knew like the back of his hand (better, since there was a freckle there he didn’t remember having yesterday), and it still felt wrong. Like something was missing. 

“Maybe I’m going through a mid-life crisis.” He frowned. “Wait, how old am I?”

He thought for a moment. “Fifty?” That was right, give or take a few months. But it didn’t feel right. 

His alarm started going off again. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, why do you keep beeping?” he yelled. He went over to it, unplugged it, and dumped it in the trash. 

“Starting the day off on the right foot.” He opened the small wardrobe. “Right, let’s sell some books to customers.”

oOoOoOo

Anthony Jay Crowley woke up with his phone buzzing and buzzing and buzzing. He didn’t set an alarm, mostly because he never needed to. Work would wake him up whenever it saw fit. 

He felt around for the phone on the end table and knocked it off to the floor. 

“Bugger.” He managed to find it and brought it to his ear. 

“Crowley.” The name sounded funny on his tongue. It was his name, but it also wasn’t. It was odd. Very odd. Now that he was more awake, the oddness seemed to seep into his very bones. It was more than odd, it was… wrong. 

“You listening Tony?” 

Right, the reason he was awake in the first place. “Yes, I’m listening.” 

“Great, the client emailed me over the paperwork. If this deal goes through, we’ll be millionaires.” 

“Yes, great. I thought I told you not to call me Tony. I don’t like that nickname.” Did he tell him that? He must have, but when?

The man on the other side of the telephone snorted. “Buddy, I’ve been doing so much work for this case. I can’t believe you’re still sleeping. Come on, it’s afternoon in China and we got businessmen to woo.” 

“Right, I’ll be there in ten. Where are we going?” He rolled out of bed and flipped through his enormous wardrobe. Why was there so much black? And why was it all so tight.

“I was thinking the Ritz…”

Anthony stopped listening. He felt his heart shoot out of his chest. “The Ritz?” he asked, his voice quiet and his mind racing. There was a strong sense of love attached to the name. Why? He tried to focus, but his head started to hurt.

“Yeah, but the Ritz is so old-fashioned and shit. So instead, I got us a table at that new gastro thingi-majigger that just popped up. I hear their lavender scented air is great.” 

Anthony’s smile dropped. When had he started to smile? He didn’t know what was going on. He felt scared and wrong and like something was missing but he couldn’t figure out what it was. This wasn’t his life, but when he tried to think about what his life was supposed to be like, nothing came to him. 

“Tony?” The voice called him back. “Are you feeling alright, man? You’re not usually this spacey.”

“Right, terribly sorry. I had a rough night.” 

The man laughed. “Yeah, how many chicks did you bang last night?”

“What? No?” Anthony was appalled by the mere suggestion. If he ever had sex, it was… now that he was thinking about it, he did have a memory of several bodies intertwined with his. There was a rather busty blond as well. 

“Was it the twins again?” 

Anthony’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. “That’s disgusting!” He couldn’t stop himself. Having a threesome was all well and good, but incest was absolutely reprehensible. Did twins even want to have sex with each other or was that some perverted male fantasy forcing itself on innocent women? Anthony had money on the latter. 

“Woah, sorry. Didn’t know you were so ashamed. Anyways. Dicta Fames, be there at eleven. We need to get this contract signed, buddy.” 

The phone clicked off and Anthony was left alone in his flat. The conversation had been a good distraction from the sense of wrongness, but now that it had ended, he couldn’t help but feel as if the walls were closing in on him. This wasn’t his life, but the worst part was, he didn’t know what it was supposed to look like.


	2. Chapter 2

Anthony had never been so hungry in his life. His flat seemed to be completely devoid of any proper food, only have a near worrying amount of hungry-man frozen dinners stashed away in the freezer and a large amount of alcohol. Sadly, none of it was good wine. Only cheap hard liquor stocked his shelves. He had memories of buying the liquor, but it still felt wrong.

Dicta Fames was not much better. The portions were small and while the lavender scented air was nice, it was not a meal. He poked at food that didn’t look like food. It looked like a science experiment. 

“Anyways, we are very glad that this partnership is going through,” his partner, Jonathan (he managed to remember eventually) said, standing up and lifting his glass. 

Around the table, the businessmen also lifted their glasses. 

Anthony followed dutifully, but he was also thinking about sushi. And crepes. And brioche. Thai food. The Ritz.

Another pang in his chest and head. Perhaps he had a brain tumor. Perhaps if he were to go to the doctor they could tell him what was wrong and fix him. 

“Yes, we are very glad as well,” another man by the name of Mark Bucholz said. “If this all goes according to plan, and we get the Chinese government on board, Wulingyuan area will boast some of the largest factories in the world.” 

Anthony frowned. “Wait, what happens to the landscape?”

Mark’s smile dropped. “What do you mean?” 

Jonathan’s eyes widened and he slashed across his throat. 

Anthony continued on. “That region has several endangered species. Surely you can’t mean to develop it.” 

Mark laughed. The rest of the table shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah, we can. It’s business. Survival of the fittest and whatnot.”

“That’s not what survival of the fittest means,” Anthony said.

“Tony, cut it out!” Jonathan hissed. 

Marked waved a hand at him. “No, no, I want to see where the man who helped pass the deal that cut down over a hundred thousand acres of the Amazon try and tell me about the environment.”

“I did what?” He would never do something so horrible. And yet, here it was in plan view. This man wouldn’t lie. He was telling the truth. He had the memories to prove it. Anthony felt sick.

Whatever, it was never too late to make a change. He threw down his napkin and stood up. “Maybe I’ve learned a thing or two about the environment since then. I’m telling you I won’t let you go through with this deal. The environment is being destroyed as is and I don’t think we need to help it along.” 

Mark started laughing. “That’s funny. You’re funny Tony.” 

“Don’t call me that.” 

“Look, I’m the one with all the connections.” Mark stepped in close, looming over Anthony despite them being similar heights. He stood his ground. 

“You two,” Mark pointed to Jonathan who looked red in the face, “are nothing. I can destroy you in an instant.” 

Somehow, despite the fact that Anthony was about to lose his entire livelihood, the entire reason he worked long hours and ate hungry-man frozen dinners and drank himself to sleep every night, the only thing that kept him going, he wasn’t afraid. 

“You make me sad,” he said. 

Mark looked as though he wanted to hit him. Instead he smiled and turned back to the table. “Well, since you’re now a tree-hugging faggot, you and your friend can leave. Don’t worry, Tony, we’ll find someone who is willing to work with us.” 

Jonathan and Anthony left. Once outside, Jonathan hit him, hard. 

“What?” 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he shouted. 

Anthony was still reeling from the fact that his best friend had punched him. It didn’t feel like the first time he had been punched, but to think about it made his head hurt. 

“How could you sign off on the deal knowing the amount of destruction it would cause?” Anthony said. 

Jonathan grabbed his chin and slammed him against the wall. Flashes of an attack, similar to this wouldn’t stop rising in his head. His ears were ringing and he felt like the world was spinning. 

“You were the one that figured out the fucking location,” he spat. “You’re the one who has been doing all of this and now you want to get fucking high and mighty on me?” Jonathan released him and he crumpled to the ground. 

“I don’t fucking need you, man. You’ve been a fucking dead weight for years. You want to be a fucking environmentalist, go ahead. Enjoy your fucking life.” He spit and walked away. The valet was shaking as he handed him his keys and Jonathan sped off. 

Anthony stayed on the ground a moment longer, the gravity of the situation seemed to finally hit him. He didn’t have a job anymore. He had done terrible things and he didn’t even have money to show for it. He stood up. The valet handed him his keys and he got in the Bentley and drove off. He didn’t want to go back to his apartment, but he couldn’t figure out where else to go. Vague places popped into his mind, clubs, casinos, strip clubs, none of it seemed right. He wanted to curl up with a good book and a cup of cocoa. He wanted good food and someone who actually loved him for him and not for his money. 

It was almost like a memory had entered his head. A vague voice and face. He tried to concentrate on it, maybe this voice and face would give him answers. It gave him a splitting headache.

oOoOoOo

“Why is there no alcohol anywhere in this shop?” Ezra groaned, digging through cabinets. There was also no TV, no computer that hadn’t been built before the nineteen eighties, no phone that had a touch screen. Only an antique radio that was playing one of the BBC channels. 

“And now, a breaking news update,” The woman’s voice said from across the room. “There have been increasing number of protests against the new factory developments scheduled to be constructed in China’s Wulingyuan Scenic Area. Environmental experts say such a project could lead to the extinction of many animals and increase China’s pollution problem. Human right’s advocates are warning that more factories could exploit women and children in the region, who are already struggling with quality of life.” 

Ezra slammed the off button and sat in silence. Why was the world getting worse? Why were there people who did such horrible things knowing they were horrible? The people behind this deal had to realize the devastation they would cause. 

Whatever, it was late and he wanted to shower and to get into bed. This whole day had felt off and he was sure that a nice long deep sleep was just what he needed. 

As Ezra was undressing, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He furrowed his brow and stepped closer. That was him in the mirror. His hair was blond, he had a round face, and he was chubby. He stepped forward and realized he hadn’t actually looking in a mirror all day. It felt… wrong. There was that stupid word again. Everything felt wrong. 

It was like he wasn’t looking in a mirror, but at someone else. Except, when he moved his hand, the person staring back at him moved it exactly the same. Completely in sync with one another. He touched his face. The reflection copied. 

“This is my body,” he said. “This is my only body. I’ve never had another one.” 

The skin felt weird underneath his fingertips. He felt his throat close and his eyes water. 

“This is my body and it’s always been this way.” Why was that a lie? Why did that feel like a lie? 

He recognized this body. He recognized the belly and the curls and the eyes. He recognized this place and each and every book. It was his. IT was all his. This had never been anyone else's. He was Ezra Zachary Fell named after his grandfather. This was his life. If it wasn’t his life, or his body or his bookshop, then whose was it? What happened to his own life? Why was he feeling this way?

He grabbed the curtain stand and threw it into the mirror, shattering the glass and spraying it all over the floor. He struggled to catch his breath. He looked at the floor and sighed. 

He’d skip the shower tonight. He just wanted to go to bed and sleep for eternity.


	3. Chapter 3

“No, I don’t want to snort cocaine off of your breasts, dear lady. I wish to do something more substantial--hello?” Anthony groaned and hung up the phone. He had gone through all of his contacts, desperate to find someone to meet up with, who wasn’t a horrible person. 

Oh, that was too mean. Several of these people weren’t horrible people. He could sense their sadness, their loneliness; their desperate need for love that had been taken from them when they were young. It should have scared him to be able to tell all of that from a simple phone call. However, he wasn’t afraid. If anything he was comforted by the fact. He wasn’t the only lost soul in the world. He did, however, seem to be the only lost soul who wanted to make an effort to do good from now on. 

He sat down in the couch, horribly uncomfortable thing. It tended to squeak when he moved around on it. He had lost his job. None of his “friends” seemed to want anything to do with him. He only had hard liquor and frozen foods in his flat. It was big, empty, and so incredibly lonely. 

“What’s the point?” he asked to nothing in particular. “I left, but Mark is right. He’s the one with all the power. They have all of our proposals. I handed them this project on a silver platter and within a few weeks, irreversible damage will be done to the environment. 

He also had to figure out what the heck he was going to do with his life. That was less pressing than the whole ‘destruction of the environment’ problem that he had caused, but he doubted he could live forever with what was in his savings accounts. 

“Hold up, how much money do I have?” He realized now he couldn’t recall a bank to even begin to look up how much money he had. Where did he bank? Did he have any stocks? 

“Something is definitely weird.” He scrolled through his phone, desperate to find someone who may be his accountant or tax consultant or something. 

“Nothing, absolutely nothing.” He threw the phone down on the couch and slumped back. 

He had thought getting his life back on track would be easy. He’d call up a few friends, they’d come over for tea and maybe some good wine. They’d talk and then he could start making a positive difference in the world. He’d get his life back on track and stop feeling so wrong about everything. Except, it seemed that no one actually wanted to be around him. How bad must his personality be? 

He walked over to the kitchen and pulled down a bottle of cheap whiskey. “Why don’t I have anything good?” He poured himself a glass and downed it in one go. 

It seemed to him that there was something wrong with him. He was Anthony Jay Crowley. This was his life. This was his doing. Another glass down. And yet, it felt as though he were placed here with little regard to what he would actually like. Another glass. Another glass. Another glass. Another bottle. 

The room was spinning and was extremely hot. He should probably get to bed. It was nice when he was drunk. Things felt wrong, but they were supposed to. It wasn’t the same type of wrongness that seemed to seep into his very soul. He fell onto the couch. 

“Why am I so unlovable?” he asked. “What did I do wrong?” 

He could think of several things he did wrong, including drafting up plans to plop a large factory in the middle of a nature reserve. “I just, I just want. I just want…” What did he want? 

He wanted to feel at home and loved. He wanted to have a good life with good food and a good friend. Maybe a lover who actually wanted to be around him and not some random woman who was just with him for his money. Did he even like women? Great, on top of this exsetential crisis he might also be gay. Just what he needed. Also a bit late in life. Was he allowed to come out as gay now when he was close to fifty? 

It was a very good idea to get to bed. He didn’t like the couch. Too squeaky. His bed was nice though. He’d like to get to bed. He’d like to fall into those silk sheets and… oh my. An image, a fantasy popped into his head of what exactly he’d like to do in that bed between those silk sheets. A blurry, undefined fantasy, but he could feel slim hips in his hands, palms burning as he dragged them up to map the lines of the body. Someone else’s hands, male… maybe? Possibly both male and female? Was that possible? Whatever. Their hands massaging over his body. His hips, his chest, playing with his hair and kissing him deeply with a tongue that could do such extraordinary things. Their legs intertwined and hips moving together in ecstasy. His partner was holding him close. Gentle but strong. As if he was the most precious thing in the world. As if he were someone worth protecting and loving so deeply and intensely. As if he weren’t an awful human being. 

He stopped in the bathroom to brush his teeth, wondering how his feet had managed to get him to the bathroom. He wished he was a little more sober, then he could really focus on the fantasy. Though perhaps it was a good thing as the crushing reality of the situation would probably be worse if he were sober. He finished brushing his teeth and used the minty mouthwash (good dental hygiene was important). He stared at the mirror and blinked a few times. His reflection blinked back. 

Except, it wasn’t his reflect that was staring back at him. He waved a hand. The reflection waved back. In perfect unison. He twisted his head and body and tried to look at every angle. His heart was beating faster and his head was spinning and pounding. His breath was coming out in short bursts and he felt light-headed. 

In a rush, he grabbed a towel and draped it over the mirror. 

“There,” he said. “If I can’t see it, it’s not a problem.” 

Anthony stumbled back to his bed and passed out. Nightmares chased him through his sleep and he was desperately reaching out to someone in particular. Someone who could make everything better. Who could make everything go back to normal. Someone who loved him and would protect him. Someone who didn’t exist. 

oOoOoOo

“I’m sorry, that book is not for sale,” Ezra gritted his teeth and held fast to the first edition of ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’. He was doing everything just short of actually getting into a tug-o-war match with the lady who had spotted it and grabbed it. 

“Then why is it on the sales floor?” She snapped. 

Good point. Ezra didn’t really know why he didn’t want to sell this book. But he couldn’t. It wasn’t his to sell (he tried not to think about the fact that this was his shop and therefore everything here was his to sell). 

“I was about to put it in the back when you came and grabbed it. Just got a call looking for it,” he lied. 

“No you weren’t. You were sitting at the cash register doing nothing. The phone didn’t even ring the entire time I was here.” 

Damn, she was persistent. “Look, I’m sorry but the Wilde First Editions are off limits. So are the books of prophecy and the misprinted bibles.” 

“That’s like half the store!” She tugged the book back to her. 

He almost had a heart attack. The book could not get damaged! He’d have hell to pay if there was so much as a micro-tear on one of the pages. From who, he didn’t know. But he also knew that feeling their wrath would be the worst thing in the world. 

“If you don’t like it, go somewhere else!” He tugged the book back to him. 

“I am a paying customer! I have every right to be in here!” She tugged the book back. 

“And I have the right to refuse service to anyone!” He tugged the book back. 

She groaned and let go of the book, causing Ezra to stumble back. “Fine, if you want to lose a paying customer, that’s on you.” 

She stomped out the door and slammed it shut. He stalked behind her and flipped the sign from open to closed, not wanting to deal with any more customers today. 

He looked at the book in his hands, his fingers tracing the cover. “Not a scratch.” 

He probably should move the books he didn’t want to sell to the back, to make sure what happened today didn’t repeat. It was actually a pleasant task. Ezra didn’t know why certain books screamed at him not to be sold, but he dutifully pulled them out and stuffed them in the back room. He was saving them for someone, someone special. He knew it. 

The day turned to night and Ezra ordered Indian take-out. The delivery man was very polite and friendly to him, asking about business and if ‘the man in the dark glasses’ was there tonight. Ezra pretended to know what he was talking about and said no. He also tipped more than what he normally would have, mostly because the man seemed to actually know something about his life and he didn’t want the delivery people to start spitting in his food. Maybe he should ask… nope, the delivery man had already left. Damn, maybe next time he should try and ask about his life. 

He sat in the quiet bookshop, looking around at it. It was warm, muted, comfortable. He could imagine spending nights back here with good wine and good company. Which reminded him, he should probably go pick up some actual alcohol. He was really getting a hankering. 

His eye caught something flickering in the background. He frowned, he didn’t remember lighting a candle. His heart rate increased. 

“It’s just a candle. Nothing bad will happen.” He turned back to his dinner, but the candle was still there, flickering. 

“It’s just a candle. Sure, the bookshop is filled with old, dry paper, but it’s never burned down.” 

A flash of fire, overwhelming the bookshop and enveloping it. Ezra couldn’t breathe. The smoke was choking him and his vision had gone red and orange with a tower of flames enveloping everything. Ash and bits of paper floated down around him in a disturbing parody of snow. The heat was intense. It was searing his flesh open. 

He tried to call out for help, but his voice would leave his throat. He could hear shouting and music and screaming. It hurt. It burned so much, not because it was burning him, but because it had destroyed someone else. 

Ezra was on the ground, screaming and trying to find someone in the fire. His eyes were burning and clouded over. His words wouldn’t form. Windows were broken and the bookshelves crumbled. 

His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he collapsed onto the floor.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning or attempted suicide/suicidal thoughts. Stay safe!

Ezra woke to the shrill ringing of the phone. 

“Oh, my head,” he groaned. He was still collapsed on the floor and there was now a crick in his neck that twinged and stung if he tried to turn his head. 

“Being human sucks.” 

A weight seemed to fall on his chest. Again, it felt like he couldn’t breath. Like he was so close to something, to the answer, but he still didn’t have a grasp on it. He looked down at his hands, flexing them, wiggling the fingers. They responded to his movements. They were his fingers. 

The phone stopped ringing. “Shit. What time is it?” It wasn’t like there was a steady stream of customers into the bookshop, so Ezra could open whenever he felt like it. But still, he did have to make money somehow. Soho was not the cheapest places to live and he wasn’t a front for the mob. In fact, it was utterly ridiculous to assume that Aziraphale would be working for or with the mob.

Wait. 

What was that name?

Ezra tried to think of it. He focused on his previous thoughts, retracing it word for word. 

Ezra. 

Azra.

Azira.

Ezra. 

Ezra. It was Ezra. Perhaps he was thinking about some weird name in one of these old books. It was stupid to forget one’s own name. And Azra… Ezra was not a stupid man. Or he wasn’t a stupid man-shaped…. No, he wasn’t a stupid man. He was a man. A human. He was human. A human who did human things like work and drink and eat and go to the park and have nightmares of a hellish fire overtaking the bookshop and eating everything alive including his best friend because they had found out about them and their arrangement and he was going to get hurt. Azira---

The phone rang again and Ezra snapped out of his thoughts and back to the bookshop. 

“What?” he snapped upon finally picking up the telephone. 

“Oh, sorry, must have the wrong store. I’m looking for the um, the adult store?” 

“It’s four five three, not three four five” 

“Oh, thank--”

Ezra slammed the phone down and slumped over. He needed help. Who should he go to? A shrink? Would they even be able to help him? What if they locked him up in the loony bin because he really was crazy. 

“Ezra Fell. Ezra Fell. Esssra Fell. For Sssatan’s Sssake! Now I’m hissing like a go- like a sssa- like a sssomeone damn sssnake. Why can’t I curse?” 

He really was going crazy, if he was invoking Satan of all things. He flipped the close sign to open and prayed that customers would come in and distract him. If he was alone with his thoughts for too long, things would start surfacing. Things that he didn’t want to surface. After all, everything was fine. Everything was good. There was nothing to worry about here. 

He was Ezra Fell. Named after his grandfather Azra Zachary Fell. He had grown up in this bookshop. Right over there by the misprinted bibles is where he had said his first words according to his now deceased mother. She died a few years ago. Cancer, poor thing. It still brought tears to his eyes and he was glad to have been there on her deathbed. His father had been killed when he was just a boy in a hit and run. That brought less tears to his eyes because his father died before he formed any real memories of him. 

See. He had a life. He had a history. He was Ezra Fell and he could point to everything in this bookshop and come up with a story about his past and what it meant to him. This was probably the result of an aging man not getting out enough. He’d find a club. Perhaps birdwatching. He’d find a club and make some friends and then everything would be alright. 

He was Ezra Fell. He was human. He was Ezra Fell. He was human. He was Ezra Fell. He was Human. 

oOoOoOo

Anthony liked being drunk. Being drunk meant that he didn’t have to think. The anxiety, depression, and loneliness didn’t crush him. The fact that his life was in shambles and no one actually liked him didn’t beat on his head at every available minute. 

“I feel like I’ve made a great mistake,” he said to a particularly verdant ficus in the corner. “I mean, how bad is the destruction of an entire ecosystem? Really? Was it worth losing my job?” 

Yes, this pleasant, floating sensation was what he really needed. 

“The answer is. The answer is.” He hoped the ficus knew how serious he was. He pointed at it so that it knew. He thought he saw the leaves shaking. But that was ridiculous. There was no breeze in his flat ergo there was nothing to shake the leaves. 

“The answer is.” What was the question again? “Yes!” He nodded, not quite sure if that was the answer. 

He tripped over the corner of the rug and smacked his head on the floor. 

“Ooh, that stung. Not as bad as the other headaches though.” 

His head was starting to throb and he could feel the telltale signs of sobering up that were right around the corner. It wouldn’t do to sober up. Sobering up was bad. It meant having clear thoughts and clear thoughts meant that he knew everything that was wrong with his life. 

He rolled to his back and stared at the ceiling. Tears were wetting his cheeks and it took him a moment to realize that they were his. 

“I’m useless. I contribute nothing to society and everyone can throw me away so easily.” He had a feeling he wasn’t just talking about Jonathan and some of the other people listed in his phone contacts. 

“No one needs me.” He continued. “No one wants me. I try so hard to be what they want but it’s not enough. It’s never been enough.” 

He turned to his side and curled up in a ball. The flat was cold and empty. He could hear his cries echoing off the walls. The floor was probably as comfortable as the couch or chairs. 

“Do you think, if I were to disappear, that anyone would notice? I read a story once about a woman who had been dead in her apartment for three years. She died with the telly on and partially wrapped Christmas presents surrounding her. How long do you think it would take for someone to notice I died? I’m nothing.” 

His voice cracked and there was now a puddle pooling around the cheek pressed to the ground. 

Anthony rolled to his hands and knees and staggered to his feet. The alcohol made things feel less real. It made things feel like a dream. But it still didn’t dull the pain, not enough. Anthony could easily slip back into his depression if he wasn’t careful. 

He blinked and realized he was standing on his balcony, overlooking the city as car lights twinkled in the distance. All these people were going to and coming from somewhere. All of these people had someone who would miss them should they die. All of these people meant more to the world than Anthony did. 

His hands gripped the balcony and one of his feet found a foothold. It would be so easy. He was alone. No one would stop him. The barrier wasn’t that high. It was easy enough to swing his leg over. So he did. 

The ground was awfully far away. How long would it take him to reach it? Would it hurt? Would he die right away? Would anyone call the paramedics or would they ignore him, hoping for someone else to take care of the problem?

He wondered if Crowley would know if he died. 

“Ah!” His head felt like someone was driving a pickaxe into it. Both hands left the railing and pressed to his eyes and he stumbled back, slamming against the wall. 

“Ow! What? Why?” The throbbing was only made worse by the lights and the sounds of traffic honking and beeping and people hollering and yelling and phones ringing and children crying and dogs barking and construction and plates breaking and screaming and fire and sirens and the tube and squealing. 

“Stop! Everything stop please!” He begged, rushing inside and slamming the door shut, blocking out the noise. He ran around and turned off all the lights and collapsed on the bed, cocooning himself in blankets and blessing the darkness that surrounded him. 

The thought he had before the migraine had disappeared. He couldn’t even recall that there was a thought. 

His dreams for the night were much more pleasant than they had been recently. There were ducks and dinners at the Ritz. There were crepes and books. There was love and someone else’s smile and laugh. It felt like sunshine. It felt like peace. It felt like home.


	5. Chapter 5

3 months later  
Anthony’s mind scared him. He couldn’t sit and think for too long or else the thoughts would overtake him and he’d be out on the balcony again. Maybe he was onto something will all the partying and drugs and sex from before. Life was a lot easier when you didn’t have to worry about being good or nice or kind or doing the right thing. Life was a lot easier when you went along with what everyone else wanted you to do. So, that’s what Anthony did. 

He called up all his friends and threw a “rager” as one social media influencer described it. There were drugs and booze and lots of sex. Anthony did the drugs and the booze, but not the sex. There was something, or someone who he wanted to have sex with, but they weren’t in this room. Whenever he thought too hard about it, a flash of bright red hair and slim hips and beautiful golden eyes filled him mind. Except that description seemed to fit his look quite well. Was he a narcassist for wanting to have sex with what appeared to be a clone? 

No, because this person was not a clone. They were better than Anthony in almost every way. They were kind and beautiful and could do the right thing without thought. Anthony was currently making his way through another bottle of absinth while an investment banker and a high-profile politician snorted cocaine off of a prostitute’s naked body. The poor girl didn’t really want to be a prostitute. 

Anthony spun away from her before he could figure out her entire life story. Perhaps he needed to be a bit more drunk and high to fully block off this level of empathy. 

“Tony! Why don’t you come over here and meet Spice,” a man who Anthony was sure he had never met before called. 

“Is Sugar somewhere around here?” 

“Her and Nice are banging the American Secretary of State. Come on, man. This is your party, enjoy it.” 

“I am enjoying.” Anthony held the bottle to his chest. The headache had started back up again and the room was uncomfortably warm. It seemed in every room there were pornographic sounds emanating. Lewd moans and skin slapping on skin. The entire place smelled and it was only by the grace of God that he remembered to move the plants into the study and lock it up, so as to protect them. 

There was a crash and his glass coffee table had been shattered to pieces. That had cost well over fifty thousand pounds. He couldn’t bring himself to care. 

He supposed he should get a broom to sweep up the glass. Spice was on her hands and knees and he’d hate for her to get glass stuck in her skin. He could care less about the man behind her. 

He pulled a broom from the cupboard and went to work sweeping up the debris. 

Someone pawed at his crotch and he felt very sick. The music was loud, his head hurt, his mouth tasted disgusting and he just wanted to go home .

No, must drink more. The more you drink, the less you can feel. He reached for the nearest thing and grabbed a bottle of pills. He didn’t know what they were or how they would mix with what he had already taken. He swallowed a handful anyways and went to dump the glass in the recycling bin. He really should just dump it in the trash. It didn’t matter whether he recycled his glass table. After all, he was the reason why there was a huge ecological preserve about to be bulldozed to the ground in about a week. 

He turned to go back to the party. There was screaming and moaning and laughing and shouting. He could hear glasses being dropped and pills being taken. His head was splitting open and he had never been in so much pain in his life. 

He thought he figured out a way to protect himself. He thought this would help. 

“What am I doing wrong? Why can’t anything go right?” He whispered. Had he really destroyed his life so much that there was no way he could improve it? Was the man in his dreams, the kind one, was he a past lover who Azira-Anthony had pushed away? 

He turned and walked out the door and into the hallway. He wasn’t wearing shoes, he realized now, as the cold floor stung his feet. He wasn’t wearing a jacket either, just a thin t-shirt that would cause him great discomfort when he stepped out into the wet London Winter. He could go back inside, but that would mean going back to the horrible aura that surrounded the place. The depression, the anxiety, the desperation, the fear, the narcissism, the lack of empathy. His hair had gotten longer and was now flopping in his eyes. He ran a hand through it. He was shaking. Was it because of the drugs or the cold? 

The doorman stood up, eyes wide and mouth opened to say something. 

Anthony brushed past him as quickly as he could. He could still kill himself. The balcony hadn’t worked, but that’s because he hadn’t been prepared. He hadn’t thought much about killing himself. Now that it was becoming clear that nothing would ever help him or be kind to him. However, he could start planning. There were a lot of pills that were likely to be left over at the party when it eventually died down. If he mixed enough of them together, well surely that would have to have a negative effect on his body. He didn’t think he could jump from the balcony again. Something about the fall made him antsy. 

A car horn blared and he jumped. He had stumbled into the street without realizing it. He waved a hand and stumbled to the other side of the road. His head was still spinning and he felt so alone and afraid. There was nowhere to turn because he had pushed all that was good away from him. He was the reason no one truly cared about him. He was the reason bad things were happening. 

His feet were stinging so much now. They were cold so every scrape seemed to hurt much worse. His toes caught the pavement and he fell forward, slamming onto the ground. 

“Mommy, that man fell,” a small girl said. He could feel her worry for his well being from here.

“Leave him alone, Jane. We don’t talk to people like that.” 

Anthony couldn’t blame the mother for pulling away her innocent daughter. He was drunk and high and barefoot in the middle of the sidewalk in the middle of the day in the middle of winter. Children did not need to see this sort of thing. 

He pulled himself up and saw swimming faces of disgust circling him. 

“Disgusting. Can’t he control himself?” 

“If he’d quit the drugs, he’d probably get a job. Lazy bum.” 

“I can see why he’s on the streets. I wouldn’t want to hire someone like that.” 

“Lose the gut.”

“You’ll inevitably fail.” 

“You’re so stupid.” 

“Shut up.” 

Who was saying all of these things? Why couldn’t they leave him alone?

He started to run, desperate to get away from these people. He pushed past them, no doubt knocking some of them over. He heard shouts of protest but continued to run, pushing himself as fast as he could go. 

His eyes blurred. His lungs stung. Everything hurt. 

He was taking stairs two at a time and pushing open the heavy door, bursting through.

“God!” He screamed, desperate for someone to hear him. God was supposed to love everything, which meant that she must love him. 

“God, please. You’re supposed to love everyone! So why can’t I be happy? What did I do wrong? Why did you abandon me and everyone?” He collapsed to his knees next to a pew. It felt like he had shattered his kneecaps and the hard concrete seemed to seep more cold into his body. 

“I tried so hard but it hurts. What am I supposed to do? I tried but it doesn’t matter!” 

He fell to his hands and started to sob. “I just tried to do the right thing.” He slammed his fist on the ground. “Why wasn’t I good enough?” 

Again.

“Why were they right?” 

Again. 

“What more could I have done? How could I have been kinder?” 

Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Blood was pouring out of his clenched fist and the headache intensified. His throat felt as though it had closed and he couldn’t breath. He tried his nose only to discover mucus made it impossible to breath as well. 

All he could do was take short, stuttery inhales and curl in on himself, clutching his injured hand to his chest and sobbing. 

oOoOoOo

The bookshop bell tinkled and the last thing Ezra wanted to deal with was another customer. 

“Is the bookshop alright?” A very young voice asked. 

Ezra furrowed his brow and looked up. In front of him stood a child, no more than eleven or twelve. He had blue eyes and fluffy brown hair. There was something odd about this child, though Ezra couldn’t put his finger on it. 

“I’m sorry?” 

“I tried to put everything back before the fire. Sorry it took so long to stop by. I just didn’t care that much. You did try to kill me.” The child crossed his arms and stared at Ezra. 

“I think you have the wrong shop. There was never a fire here.” And even if there was, it was unlikely that a child would be the one to put things back together again. 

_“Where are you, you idiot? I can’t find you!” Flames and heat licking his face, scorching his clothes._

Ezra blinked and shuddered. His mind had a habit of taking him to strange and dark places. 

The boy narrowed his eyes. “What are you talking about, Aziraphale?” 

The name pierced Ezra’s body, painful like a sword slashing through his being. He gripped the counter and struggled to stay upright. 

“It’s Ezra. Or Mr. Fell to you. This better not be a joke. I am getting angry, and you won’t like me to get even angrier.” 

The boy took a step back. “No, you’re not Aziraphale. There’s something wrong.”

Now he was getting pissed. He had had a trying few months and he wanted things to go back to normal, though that seemed to be more and more an impossibility. 

“Where are your parents?” He seethed. 

“You’re in the wrong body.”

Now Ezra lost his patience completely. “Out!” he shouted. “I don’t have time to be dealing with you and if you are going to be a menace, then get out!” There was that hissing again. Had he always had this tick?

The boy looked around the shop again, scrutinized Cr-Ezra, and then turned and ran. 

Once the door slammed closed, Ezra let himself sink to the floor. He felt like he was sinking to the floor a lot lately. Since when had his body been unable to hold him up? Since when had his strength not been enough to carry him? 

Since three months ago. Something happened three months ago, and Ezra was bearing it alone. Completely and totally alone. 

oOoOoOo

The Them were waiting outside the shop with some pastries.

“How’d it go, Adam?” Pepper asked, handing him a chocolate chip cookie. 

“Something’s wrong. I think they’re in the wrong bodies.” Adam didn’t feel like eating a cookie. Something was wrong with Crowley and Aziraphale and he felt this pull to fix it, even if he had only known them for less than a day. 

“Can you be in the wrong body?” Wensly asked. 

“Yeah, you can!” Brian said as they started walking back towards the school group. The teacher would not notice The Them had disappeared, since Adam wanted time to explore the city without boring class lectures. 

“My sister has a friend who was a girl, but she said that she wasn’t a girl but was actually a boy that was born into the body of a girl. Is that what you mean, Adam?” 

“It’s called transgender,” Pepper said. “And that’s a gross simplification. My mother says that transgender people can be affected by the culture of the society they are forced to live in and because we live in a western society, we don’t accept gender identities outside of male and female.” 

“Then, can other things be transgender?” Wensly asked. “I’d hate to force a cat to identify as female when it was actually male.”

“I don’t think cats can be transgender,” Adam said. “Humans can be transgender because of the brain.”

“What about the brain?” Brian asked. 

“There’s more stuff going on in it. It’s kind of like why humans feel bad when they kill things, but lions don’t. Lions have a much simpler brain, so they don’t need to worry about gender and stuff.” 

“Still, dolphins and monkeys are really smart. Then can they be transgender?” Wensley finished up his pastry. 

Adam thought for a moment. He had read somewhere that dolphins were smarter than humans, and humans and monkeys shared 99% of their DNA. “Maybe.” He finally decided. “We could always ask them. They taught that one gorilla sign language. I’m sure if we tell the gorilla about gender, it would be able to tell us if transgender gorillas exist.” 

“But what if that gorilla is Westernized and doesn’t like the idea of transgender?” Brian added. “Do we have to teach every gorilla sign language so that we can ask all of them so that we can know for sure?” 

The talk about gender was starting to hurt Adam’s head. He’d have to ask Anathema when they got back to Tadfield. Speaking of Anathema.

“I don’t think Aziraphale was transgender. I mean it felt like he was literally in the wrong body, like it wasn’t his. Almost like he was borrowing it.” 

The Them stopped walking and started thinking. Four heads were better than one when it came to figuring out problems (even if the teachers called it cheating). 

“I think we need to ask Anathema,” Wensly finally said. “She knows everything. She’d have to know what was going on with Crowley and Aziraphale.” 

“Right.” Adam nodded. “When we get back to Tadfield, we’ll go straight to Anathema’s and tell her about what happened in the bookshop.” 

It was a solid plan. Hopefully, Anathema would be able to help. It would explain the feeling of wrong that had encircled the whole of existence for three months. Adam was anxious to get everything back to normal. 

In the bookshop, Crowley was trying to convince himself that everything was fine. In the church, God guided a man to help Aziraphale. Up in Heaven, angels toasted to their brilliance. Three months and not a peep out of either nuisance. Their work was finished. In Hell, the demons celebrated with a loud dance party, complete with stomping on the hands of the damned. They could forget about the traitors once and for all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The conversation the Them had was loosely based on a conversation I heard some kids have on the bus the other day. It’s kind of nice to hear kids start talking about gender identity (among other things) in such an open way. They weren’t correct about a lot of things, but they’re willing to learn and explore in a non-judgmental way. Hopefully we can continue down this path of acceptance.


	6. Chapter 6

As Aziraphale put back on his clothes, he couldn’t help but grin like an idiot. They had done it! They had swapped successfully. Now, with any luck, they’d be able to go on about their lives. They’d finally be left alone. 

He was already compiling a list in his head of all the things he wanted to do. He could go out to eat and not feel guilty! He could read for days at a time and not worry if it counted as sloth!

His mind wandered to a certain demon. 

Crowley. 

He could finally be with Crowley. Their friendship could be out in the open. Perhaps, if he dared to be bold, they could be more than friends. Sometimes, in the dark of the night when it only felt to Aziraphale as if he were the only being in the universe, he would dream about him and Crowley together. He wanted to know what it felt like to hold his hand, to kiss him, to have sex. He wanted it all desperately. 

He finished putting on the last of his clothes and turned to Beelzebub, Dagon, and Hastur, who were all staring at him with looks of awe and fear. 

“I would say it was nice seeing you, but it really wasn’t,” he said, channeling as much of Crowley as he could muster. He was still playing a part, after all. He never did try out for one of Shakespear’s plays, but he did love the idea of being an actor. 

He was about to step out the door when hurried footsteps were heard. 

“What now?” Beelzebub snarled. 

Aziraphale faltered. To be honest, there wasn’t much of a plan beyond this point. They had hoped that it would all go well. They should have planned better. 

Michael appeared with Sandalphon in tow. Aziraphale’s calm demeanor dropped faster than a stone falling through the air. Sandalphon had a way of making you afraid. 

“He needs to come with us, now!” Michael commanded. 

“I’m coming to. I want to know what you lot are up to.” Beelzebub walked up beside them, Hastur and Dagon following behind. 

“What’s going on?” Aziraphale asked. He hated how shaky his voice had gotten. Crowley was confident. Crowley would never appear nervous or not in control. Crowley was everything Azirphale was not. Despite his fun earlier, it was getting to be a bit much for him to keep up. He started fiddling with his hands, made even more anxious by the lack of his ring. He would always twist it when he was nervous. 

“Shut up, traitor,” Sandalphon said with a voice that held such malice. Aziraphale was unaware that angels could sound so angry and… well, demonic. 

More to the point, did they know? Had they figured out the switch? If that was the case, then where was Crowley? Was he already dead?

Aziraphale struggled to calm his breathing. He couldn’t give too much away, not yet. He had learned his lesson when dealing with the Nazis. He had to play along until they revealed their hand. 

They grabbed his arms and yanked him down the corridor and up to the elevator. 

“I thought you were going to let me go.” He tried to sound confident, he really did. “What did you do with C- with Aziraphale?” 

They stayed silent and looked straight ahead. The muck and grime on the elevator slowly melted away and it became a gleaming silver rocket to the top. 

The doors opened and he was pulled through the familiar halls, halls that he hoped he would never see again. They stopped at a large room. 

Gabriel was pacing furiously back and forth, muttering to himself. Aziraphale’s eyes didn’t go to him, though. They went straight to Crowley. He was still in his body, lying on a heap on the floor. He was still alive, though. At least one of his prayers had been answered. 

Before he could stop himself or think of the consequences, his mouth opened. “Crowle-” He tried calling out to his friend. 

Gabriel took note and snapped him fingers, freezing Aziraphale in place and keeping the words frozen on his tongue. 

Gabriel continued to pace. “I don’t get it. I don’t get it. He’s an angel. I’d be able to tell if he wasn’t. And he’s not fallen. No paperwork was filed.” 

Wait, did they not know about the ruse? Michael and Sandalphon had let go of Aziraphale’s arms and were also pacing nervously. 

“What did you do to him?” Hastur asked, squatting down and poking at Crowley, as if he were a jellyfish on the beach. 

Aziraphale wanted to scream at the demon to leave him alone, to leave his friend alone, but the words would not come. He could not move. 

Gabriel shook his head. “This is the only way I can see us getting rid of them, is if we make them what they so desperately want.” 

“Quit with the riddles and just tell us already.” For once, Aziraphale was grateful for Beelzebub’s unwillingness to beat around the bush. 

“They love humanity so much, then they should be human.” 

“We don’t have that kind of power,” Uriel said. Aziraphale hadn’t noticed them at first. They seemed scared. It was unusual for such a powerful angel. Just what had Crowley gotten up to when he was up here?

“We don’t need that kind of power. We just need to make them think they’re human.” Gabriel clapped his hands together. “I have it all figured out. We’ll give them lives that are consistent to their personalities. Aziraphale will be a lonely stick-in-the-mud bookseller and Crowley will be some sort of high profile investment banker. Lots of prostitutes and stuff.” 

Had he been able to move, Aziraphale would have snorted and rolled his eyes. Crowley was more the type to listen to the woes of the sex workers, not partake in that particular sin. In fact, Aziraphale was fairly sure Crowley had never had sex before. 

“And how does this get them out of our hair?” Dagon asked. 

“If they really believe they’re human, then they’re going to die. They’ll start to get older, or they’ll get hit by a car or something.” Gabriel explained. “They won’t know anything about Heaven or Hell so why should they believe that they’re immortal. They’re human brains won’t be able to even begin to imagine the concept. Eventually, they’ll die because that’s what humans do.” 

“And what happens if they just come back for new corporations?” Michael asked. 

_More to the point,_ Aziraphale thought, _how is us being in different bodies going to affect this?_

“They won’t because they can’t even fathom it. If they can’t fathom it, then they aren’t going to come back to bother us.” Gabriel was acting as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

The others didn’t seem convinced. 

“It’s either this, or we let them go,” Gabriel continued. “Do you really want them to get off without punishment?” 

“No, I want him dead for what he did,” Hastur growled. 

Gabriel walked up to Aziraphale and stared deep into his eyes. He never realized the depths of hate until now. It scared him to think that he had been following this being’s orders for so long. If he was capable of this, what else was he capable of?

“I’m going to be so glad to get rid of you, you fucking son of a bitch.” 

Aziraphale had never heard another angel curse. He thought he was the only one. He had been guilty ever since he had fuck in the bookshop not even twenty-four hours ago. Now he felt angry. Apparently, Gabriel could do whatever he wanted. 

He raised his fingers, and snapped. The world went dark. 

oOoOoOo

When Anthony came too, his head still felt as though it had been split open. His hand was throbbing and his throat was dry. But he was on something soft and warm. He opened his eyes. Everything was blurry but he appeared to be in a backroom somewhere. The previous events were starting to come back to them, but they were foggy and patchwork. The dream he had had, however, was falling away from him. He tried to grasp the details; it felt as though it had been rather important. But it was like trying to catch air with your hands. The details fell away until all he could remember was the echo of a snap. 

Since trying to remember the dream was a bust, he sat up. Or rather, tried to. 

“Woah, easy there. Take it easy.” A kind voice said. Hands came to his back and helped him sit up. He turned and saw a priest sitting next to him. He was about his age. Though despite the kind smile, there was an aura of worry and doubt hanging around him like a cloud. 

“You’re lucky one of my parishioners found you. It wouldn’t be good to have some bloody man passed out during the service.” He laughed. 

“Why am I not at a hospital?” 

The priest’s smile dropped. “I had this intense feeling that you shouldn’t go there. Heaven knows I wanted to call the ambulance, but, well, call it divine intervention, I suppose. I knew that I couldn’t send you to the hospital, at least not yet.” 

Anthony nodded and stared at his bandaged hand. 

“So you brought me to the backroom?” 

“We have some extra cots and things for the winter.” 

Anthony stared at him. He didn’t get the connection. 

The priest rubbed the back of his neck. “The homeless. They stay here during the winter. It helps keep them warm and alive. I’d love to do it year round, but we don’t have the staff to help out. During the winter, people are a lot more charitable and willing to volunteer or donate. Ah, I sometimes hate seeing suffering and knowing that there isn’t much I can do to help it.” 

“You seem like a very good priest.” He meant it. The man sounded as though he genuinely cared for the poor and wanted to help him. He wasn’t just doing it to look good. 

He laughed. “I wish I agreed with you, but I don’t feel like I’m a great priest. Not anymore, at least.” 

“What do you mean?” 

He shrugged. “A few years ago, I started to doubt. I saw some pretty girls. I’m talking the leggiest blondes you’ve ever seen. They looked straight out of a magazine. I guess it just got to me that I was supposed to devote my entire life to God without ever doing… well, anything. It seems like the church loves rules and anything that might be remotely pleasurable is against the rules.”

“Fair enough,” Anthony said, his fingers picking at the gauze on his hand. 

“Oh, what am I going on for?” The priest smacked his forehead. “You’re the lost soul that needs help. We don’t need to talk about my doubt. So, why were you screaming at God, drunk and possibly high?” 

Anthony shrank back. He felt so ashamed of everything. He felt ashamed of what he had done, how he had felt, how he had failed. 

“The world would be a lot better if I just died already,” he heard himself say. His self-control and brain-to-mouth filter had apparently turned off. 

“Don’t say that. We all have a purpose, otherwise, God wouldn’t have put us on this Earth.” 

“I thought you doubted your faith?” he shot back. 

“I do, but I don’t doubt God. I still believe in him, even if I don’t believe in the Church. So, what happened? What brought you to this point?”

Anthony should have walked away. He should have told the priest it was none of his business and left. He should have found the nearest bridge and jumped off it. 

Instead he broke down. He told him about the headaches. About the life. About his sins and his attempts to fix them only to fail. He told him about the strange feelings and fantasies. He didn’t realize he was crying until the priest handed him a tissue. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me, and because of this, I can’t seem to fix it.”

The priest was silent for several long moments. He finally sighed. “That’s not an easy fix.” 

“No, it’s not.” 

He smiled and patted his hand. “Listen, Anthony, have you thought about trying to seek out the places and things that make you uncomfortable?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean, you tried to change your life, but you stayed in your flat, you kept in contact with the same people, you ate what was in your refrigerator. What if, instead, you try and seek out the experiences you have avoided. Go to a restaurant that you feel is important to you. Wander around neighborhoods that call to you.”

“And how is that supposed to help?” Anthony spat. He didn’t mean to, but he was awfully frustrated with all these people telling him this and that with little to no reason for their advice. 

“It’ll help because you’ll start to make connections. You want to go to these places for a reason, but you keep running away. I think if you try and figure out why you want to go there, maybe some pieces will start to fall into place.” 

Anthony said nothing. 

“If nothing else, it gives you a chance to do something new. The definition of insanity is--”

“Doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.” Anthony nodded. 

He turned to the priest. “Thank you, for listening.” 

“Thank you, for staying.” The priest smiled at him. 

As they walked to the door, Anthony stopped. “You know, if you truly are unhappy as a priest, perhaps you should do something different.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, you were very good at helping me today, perhaps a therapist. You’d be able to help people and not be tied to any religion.” 

The priest bit his lip. “And you think God would like that?” 

He thought for a moment. Somehow, despite not even really believing in God, he had his answer. “Yes, she would. She wants you to help people, and to feel fulfilled doing it. If leading a mass several times a week isn’t allowing you to help people, try something different. The definition of insanity is--”

“Alright, I know. Thank you.” He opened the door and Anthony stepped outside (he borrowed shoes and a jacket from the church’s lost and found). “Do you really think God is a woman?” He asked as he made his way down the steps. 

Anthony thought about it for another minute and had his answer. “I don’t think the Almighty is much concerned with human gender, but I like to think she is a woman.” 

The priest chuckled, not in a condescending way, but in a way that suggested that he liked the idea as well. The door of the church closed and he was once again alone in the world. 

Except, he had a plan now. He swallowed and set off, determined to finally get some answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Crowley this chapter. Don't worry. he'll be back next chapter along with all the angst you can possibly ask for!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to start with some Newt and Anathema because I don't explore their characters enough. Plus it's a nice little break between the mess that is Aziraphale and Crowley.

After Anathema burned the book, she and Newt sat down and had a long talk. She didn’t enjoy feeling as though this was an arranged marriage. She didn’t enjoy that she had to live her entire life knowing she would have to have sex with someone she had just met. She didn’t like the idea of forever being tied to him. So, they broke up. Though, Newt wasn’t entirely sure that they broke up given the fact that he never really knew if they were together. 

They did, however, decide to stay friends. Newt had approximately zero friends, people he could hang out with or talk about his day to. In school, they called him awful names and spread rumors that he was gay (using much worse language, though). He didn’t necessarily oppose the idea of being gay, but, given the more conservative nature of his schooling, it made it so that no one would ever want to sit with him. Boys would be afraid he would hit on them. Girls thought that there was something wrong with him. Maybe there was something wrong with him. Maybe he was gay.

After all, what kind of a man doesn’t seek out regular sexual relations with a woman? Looking at the men on the street, the boys from his school, the men on TV, he often didn’t feel like a man. Sometimes, he didn’t even feel like a he. 

That’s why he joined the Witchfinder Army. “Be a Man!” it promised. However, Shadwell’s view of women made Newt very uncomfortable and he was glad the army was disbanded. He still didn’t feel like a man. 

But Anathema’s friendship was so amazing. Turns out, there weren’t just two genders, there were multiple. And you could be more than just gay or straight, you could be asexual, bisexual, pansexual, and so much more! She had odd thoughts about certain things, but she was also open minded and had a thirst for knowledge that Newt had never seen before. He felt like he could talk to her. 

She was the one who, instead of trying to force him to learn about computers, steered him towards a job as a historical reenactor. Turns out, there was a Tudor Style estate not far from Tadfeild that needed a stable-hand. Newt enjoyed being around the horses and there were very little computers to interact with. For the first time in years, he felt like he was actually going somewhere and doing something. Maybe it wasn’t the life everyone else was striving for, but it was a life he could have. 

Because of her kindness, he tried to be a good friend back. He left notes on her door to remind her to lock it (she wasn’t in the habit since Agnes would tell her if she was going to be robbed). He did his best to help her through anxiety attacks that happened when she realized she never had to make choices for herself. He listened to her talk about her thesis, though he couldn’t understand a word, and let her use him as a sounding board when she was stuck on a problem. Maybe one day, they would actually go on a date, without the pressures of a 17th century witch making predictions about their relationship. Maybe they would remain friends. Either way, they had a comfortable relationship now and were both learning how to live life in this new world. 

He should have known it wouldn’t last. 

oOoOoOo

Adam and the Them were regular fixtures around Jasmine Cottage. So when they came one brisk winter morning, Newt thought nothing of it (he and Anatema were still living together, in separate bedrooms, to save money on rent). 

“Hello Adam, how was the trip to London?” He asked. He was expecting to be bombarded with tales of adventure and mischief, something straight out of a 1980s cartoon or children’s movie. What he got instead were grave faces. 

“Is Anathema here?” Adam asked. “We have to talk to her.”

“It’s about Aziraphale,” Brian added. 

“And Crowley, though we never did see him,” Pepper said. 

Newt’s smile dropped and he let them come inside. He was wary of the angel and demon. True, they were trying to avert the apocalypse, but they did also try and kill Adam, only to be stopped by Madam Tracy (Newt needed to send her some chocolates as a thank you. Or maybe a fruit basket). 

“Anathema,” he called. “Adam needs to talk to you.” 

Anathema came downstairs. “What’s up? How was London?” 

It was as if a switch had been flipped and the Them broke out in animated story-telling. There was reenactments, garbled plots, and at one point Newt wasn’t even sure if they were talking about Aziraphale and Crowley at all. Apparently, Adam saved his teacher from a mugger and got extra credit as a result as well as a key to the city. It was bizarre. 

Finally, the kids calmed down. “So that’s about it. What do you think, Anathema?” Adam asked, back to his sullen demeanor. 

Newt looked at her, wondering how on Earth she managed to follow any of this. Anathema tapped her chin thoughtfully. 

“I guess I can’t give an accurate diagnosis until I see for myself. You said if felt like the aura was in the wrong body?” 

Adam nodded. 

“Body switching isn’t unheard of but why and how they switched will determine how to get them back in the right body.” She turned and walked up the stairs. “Newt, grab your keys, we’re going to London!” 

oOoOoOo

Ezra was having an awful day. The headaches were building in his head and the interaction with the kids had left him drained and feeling so alone. He was so close to something, he knew it. But he couldn’t get a fix on it. Maybe he shouldn’t have kicked out the boy. Maybe he should have listened to what he had to say. Maybe it would have given him some answers. 

“Ah!” He doubled over, clutching his head. “Ow, ow. Stop. Stop. Stop!” Tears were leaking from his eyes as he fell to his knees. The carpet cushioned his fall but it still hurt so much. 

“Please, stop. Please!” He didn’t know who he was asking to help or why. He didn’t know if anyone was even bothering to listen to him at this point. He fell forward. Behind the pain, he could almost make out memories. Memories of another person. Their smile, their eyes, their warmth, their laugh. He could feel his heart beat faster when he made them happy. He could feel his stomach twisting into knots when he asked him questions. 

Oh, he was so close. Crowley could reach out and touch him. He could reach out and touch Aziraphale. Yes. He had to get to Aziraphale. Aziraphale would make everything better. He always did. 

The bell rang and Ezra snapped back to reality. Pathetic, curled up on the floor like a child when he should be running a bookshop. 

He stood up, thankful he collapsed in a place hidden from the door. “Hello, can I help you with anything?” He walked out from behind the bookshelf. His legs felt like that of a newborn deer and his head was still pounding. 

A young man and woman were standing there looking around. The woman smiled when she saw him, only to have her smile disappear seconds later. 

“He’s right. You are in the wrong body. Crowley, what’s going on?” 

Ezra narrowed his eyes. “I’ll have you know I don’t know who this ‘Crowley’ is, but if you are going to play practical jokes then you should leave.”

The name Crowley felt so familiar on his tongue. He decided to ignore that. It was easier this way, to ignore the hard parts in favor of an easier life. No thinking, no questioning, just existing. 

The woman took a step forward. “You really don’t remember anything? What happened?” 

Had Cro-Ezra been a proper amnesiac, like those in the movies, he might have decided to question this woman as to what she knew about his identiy. However, he was not a proper movie amnesiac and therefore had no recollection of this woman or this man at all. 

“Nothing happened. Who are you to come in here and assume that something is wrong?” _Something is wrong. Please, help me! I’m alone and afraid. Please! Please, you have to know something. You have to. ___

__“Look, Anathema, maybe we should come back later,” the man said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “We don’t know what he’s capable of, or what’s going on. What if that person with the fly hat and the tall American are behind this?”_ _

__A sharp stabbing pain slammed into his head and Ezra gasped, doubling over. He remembered a tall American. More specifically, he remembered shooting fire at a tall American. He was so angry. Angry that the angel didn’t get a trial. Angry that Heaven had dared to treat his friend (the love of his life) with no respect. He hated that they mocked him, made him doubt himself, bullied him into submission. The fire was burning the back of his throat again. He let out an animalistic growl. It felt as though his nails were growing into talons, his teeth sharpening into fangs, his eyes shifting and changing._ _

__A hand landed on either shoulder._ _

__“-wrong? Crowley, what’s wrong?” the woman was saying._ _

__He took a gasping breath and slumped against the counter._ _

__“There you are, just breath,” the man said._ _

__“Out.” Ezra growled._ _

__“What?”_ _

__“Get out!” He wrenched himself away from them and shoved them to the door. “Get out! Get out!”_ _

__Lightbulbs shattered in the bookshop and he felt power he had never felt before coursing through his veins. For her part, the woman remained extremely calm throughout the whole ordeal, as if lightbulbs regularly shattered around her. She scribbled something on a piece of paper and left it on the counter._ _

__“Call me when you’re ready to talk.”_ _

__She turned and left. The man paused and looked back. “Feel better soon.” He left as well._ _

__The door shut and locked itself. Ezra didn’t care or didn’t notice. Instead, the barely concealed fury, sadness, and fear that he had forced deep within itself burst forth. He wouldn’t be surprised if every lightbulb in London shattered._ _

__“Ah!” he screamed. Memories and thoughts and feelings rushed at him, but they didn’t make any sense. They were jumbled and impossible to make out. Throughout it all, one face, his face showed up time and time again. Except, it wasn’t his face._ _

__He screamed falling to the ground. He screamed so loud and so long he was afraid his lungs word burst._ _

__“Bastards! All of you!” The fire was swirling around him. He had caused it. It was all his fault and there was nothing more he could do. “You took him from me!”_ _

__Tears were running down his face. His hands were clenched so tightly the nails cut into his palms, causing them to bleed._ _

__“Aziraphale,” he whimpered. And just like that the name he had spoken so easily was disappearing from his tongue and his mind. “No, no, no! Please, please don’t let me forget. Please!”_ _

__He was truly sobbing now. Ugly and uncontrolled, curled in on himself because he was alone now._ _

__“Don’t take him from me. Please, please I’ll do anything.” But it was no use. The rush of memories that had assaulted him, that had made him break down in the first place. They were gone. In their place were memories of a childhood he knew wasn’t real. Of a mother who died much too early. Of a grandfather who loved him._ _

__“No.” He fully collapsed onto the ground, still sobbing. Everything was gone. He didn’t know why he was crying in the first place._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, were you having a good day today? Well, I'm sure that last part made everything so much better. Enjoy the image of Crowley sobbing because the universe (Heaven and Hell) hates him.


	8. Chapter 8

Ezra sat on his favorite couch, hand grasping his chin as he rested his elbows on his knees, staring at the table. The clock in the next room was ticking, louder than normal, he thought. The conversation with the witch played over and over in his head. How did he know she was a witch? He had never met the woman after all. But he knew. More importantly, he knew she was important and could actually help him. 

“The way I see it,” he said to no one in particular, “I have two options. Option A, continue as I have been and ignore things. Option B, find Book Girl and get her to tell me what the hell is going on.” 

He slumped back, exhausted. Why couldn’t things be easy. They were supposed to be easy now. It was supposed to just be him and… someone, living their lives and loving one another openly. 

This existence was the only one he knew, but it was cold and empty. There were no friends, no loved ones, no connections with the Earth. It almost felt as though he were a ghost, existing in this plane but not interacting with it. 

He was alone. More importantly, he was lonely. He wanted to dine at the Ritz and let his companion steal his last slice of cake, Devil’s food cake if he was feeling cheeky, Angel’s food cake if he wasn’t. He wanted to sit in the backroom and drink for hours and talk about anything and everything. He wanted to talk about that one time in Rome they tried oysters (he had never been to Rome or had oysters, but the desire was there all the same). 

More importantly, Crowley wanted Aziraphale back. 

There was just one problem: when Ezra wasn’t thinking too hard, these thoughts came easily, almost naturally. But the moment he started thinking about it, they slipped away faster than he could recall. 

He picked up the piece of paper the witch left him. 

_In case you want to talk  
Anathema _

Below was a phone number scribbled. He put the paper down and sighed. 

“I need to do it. I need to get up and call her.” 

The paper stayed on the table. 

“What if I hear things I don’t want to hear? What if this is selective amnesia because I’m a terrible person? What if… what if I don’t like who I really am.” 

He picked up the paper and walked to the phone. 

“Hello?” A voice said. 

“Is this the girl who barged into my shop earlier?” Ezra said. 

“Yes. Are you ready to talk?” 

Ezra looked around the bookshop. This was his home, but this wasn’t his bookshop. He knew that now. He understood that. He knew that if he ever wanted to truly feel as though he belonged, he needed his angel back. He needed Az-

“Crowley?” 

“Hm, yeah, I’m ready. I’ll try not to get pissed off at you.” 

“So glad to hear it.” 

He could tell she was rolling her eyes. Americans really were a rude bunch. 

“Can you come by in an hour?” Ezra asked. 

“Yeah, do you want me to bring anything? Candy, cocoa, crepes?” 

There was a lump in Cr-Ezra’s throat. “No. I don’t think that’d be necessary.” He said goodbye and hung up the phone. 

He spent the next hour oscillating between getting ready to run away, and scolding himself for being such a child. He did meditation techniques. Breathing techniques. Positive affirmations. Negative affirmations (those seemed to work better) and then resorted to yelling at the one lone cactus that was sitting on the windowsill. The poor thing seemed terrified, though Ezra had no idea how a plant could look terrified. 

There was a knock on the door. 

The witch ( _”Anthema, Crowley. Really, you must use people’s names. It’s polite.” “It’s stupid, that’s what it is. She’s a witch. Do you think she’d rather be called book girl?” “Actually, I’d rather be called Anathema.”_ ) and her trembling companion were on the other side. 

“Come on in. Can’t guarantee I won’t freak out again, but I’m assuming you have an explanation?” Crow-Ezra gestured for them to enter. He couldn’t wait to sleep after this. A long good sleep, that’s exactly what he needed. 

“Yes, I do.” She hung her coat on the coat rack. There were articles of clothes hanging there that Ezra (Crowley?) didn’t dare move. The lounge jacket needed to stay there for when Az-Az-Az…. Someone came back home. 

“Alright, let’s get to it. What do you know about me?” Ezra demanded. His head was starting to throb again and his mind was screaming not to push, not to question. Just accept. 

Book girl looked nervous, just for a second. She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders. “You’re probably not going to believe me.” 

“Try me.” 

“Alright. You’re a demon stuck inside the body of an angel.” 

Ezra blinked. He blinked again. He furrowed his eyes and blinked again. 

“Excuse me?” 

Anathema leaned forward. “You were trying to stop Armageddon with your husband, who’s an angel. Or at least, I think he’s your husband. You two seemed awfully close. Anyways, you’re not in the right bodies. I don’t know what happened but it’s not right. You have to get back in the right bodies and soon. I see the edges of your aura is already starting to fray.” 

“And what happens when they fray?” He shouldn’t be encouraging this sort of behavior. He should be giving this woman the number of a good psychiatrists. Angels and demons? A husband? He didn’t know which one was more unbelievable. 

“I’m not sure what happens to occult forces, but humans go crazy and eventually die.” 

He had been feeling weaker lately. And there were things about his life that weren’t adding up. 

“I’m sorry to tell you this book girl, but I have a past, and none of it involves angels and demons and marriage between the two.”

“What’s your mother’s name?”

He paused. “Janice.” That didn’t sound right, but it was the name that came to mind.

“What year did you graduate from university?” 

“That was a long time ago. Do you really expect me to know the exact date?” 

“I said year, not day.” 

His headache was getting worse. His eyesight was getting worse as well. And there was something strange going on with his tongue. 

“Did you ever have a pet growing up?” 

“Ngh,” he choked, but an answer came. “A cat named….” The memory was there but it was almost as if it was placed into his mind. 

“Are you allergic to anything.” 

There was a ripping sound. Crowley knew his claws had dug into the couch. Aziraphale was going to be ticked. This was an original from the 1800s. 

“What was your first boyfriend or girlfriend’s name?” 

“Ah!” Did he have a boyfriend or girlfriend. An image of a girl came to his head, but it felt like a stock photo model. There was a fake smile and a shot that was supposed to be candid, but was instead stiff and posed. 

“Face it, Crowley, whatever life you think you had. It’s a lie. I don’t know why you’re thinking this way, but you are. We need to find Aziraphale and get you two switched before you destroy each others bodies--”

“AH!” He screamed. He screamed until his throat was raw and his lungs burned. He screamed for seconds, minutes, maybe even hours. His screams reverberated off the city, echoing infantismaly so that all could hear it. He screamed for someone to hear him. Not anyone. Someone. Someone whose face he saw every day in the mirror, but who’s name was not there. Someone who invaded his dreams, but not his conscious thoughts. Someone who needed him as much as he needed them. 

Finally, he stopped screamed. And when he stopped screaming, he realized Anathema and Newt were sitting there frozen. 

“Hello?” He stepped forward and put a hand on her shoulder. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t even move. 

He waved a hand in front of the man’s face. Didn’t even blink. Any normal human would have been terrified. After all, this was something straight out of the Twilight Zone. In the back of his head, however. He only could think one thought. 

_Be not afraid. I am an angel of the Lord. Be not afraid._

So he got up, put on his coat, and walked out the door. 

oOoOoOo

Anthony was afraid. He was in pain and he was desperate for relief, but following the priest’s advice was easier said than done. He had sat for hours, trying to think of one measly place he could go to. He came up with nothing. 

On a whim, he decided to start wandering, to see where his feet took him. He felt like he wandered the whole city. 

Except, no, that wasn’t right. There were definitely places he had missed. What about London Soho?

There was a stab of pain through his head. “Ah, that stings.” 

What about the number 19 bus? He hasn’t taken that yet. 

“Ow!” People were staring now as he doubled over, hands pressed to his eyes. The pain gradually decreased. Once again he could hear people muttering and staring at him. Their glares boring into him, making him feel so small, alone, and afraid.   
He hadn’t even visited the British Museum. 

“Ah!” He fully collapsed onto the ground now. He was a worthless angel.  
He couldn’t even guard the garden properly. He let the serpent right in! Didn’t even smite him when he realized what the demon, Crawly ( _“No, Crowley now. Anthony J. Crowely. The J doesn’t really stand for anything. It just sounds cool. Get with the program, angel. All the cool people have middle initials.” “Are you ‘cool’ dear?” “Ngk, I wouldn’t expect you to understand. Haven’t been cool ever. Still think tartan’s stylish.” “It is!”_ )

His feet were carrying him someplace, someplace he didn’t know and didn’t care to. He still hated everything that was going on. He still hated the fact that everything felt fake. Everything felt like a bad story planted in his head. What possible explanation could there be? Why couldn’t he just be normal for once in his life?

He crashed into someone. 

“Oh, terribly sorry. Have a bit of a migraine, I’m afraid. Just trying to get home.” He pushed himself off the man and looked down. The man beneath him was completely stiff and frozen, arm still out as if trying to hail a cab. 

“Excuse me?” Azira--Anthony poked the man. He didn’t even move. He scrambled off him. Didn’t dead bodies become stiff after they died? 

“Somebody! Somebody help!” He scrambled to his feet and whipped around, wondering why no one seemed perturbed by the dead man on the ground. “Someone call an…” no one else was moving, “ambulance.” 

Azria-Cr-Anthony stood and went to a woman standing nearby on the phone. “Excuse me, miss?” 

She didn’t blink. She didn’t breath. She didn’t move. 

Anthony stumbled back, hand pressed over his mouth. “Oh, oh God! What’s happening?” He turned and ran. 

“Sir?” He put a hand on a man’s shoulder and shook him. He didn’t move.

“Somebody? Anybody?” He ran in front of cars that were not moving. He dashed in front of dogs, frozen in mid-jump for treats. Water itself seemed to stand still. Everything was frozen in time. 

“What’s happening? What’s going on?” He cried, his heart beating so quickly he feared it would burst from his chest. He tripped on a curb, forehead smacking against the ground. 

“Ow.” He moaned, rolling to his back and staring at the grey sky. He was frozen in time. Why? He did not know. How to stop it? He did not know. He rolled to his hands and knees and pushed himself up. 

“What am I going to do now?” He stumbled into St. James’ park, his feet still carrying him to some unknown location. He didn’t fight it. He let his feet take him. There was no point in fighting it anymore. He was broken, that much was true. 

There was a bandstand up ahead. It brought him such pain to look at it, not in his head, though. There were bad memories associated with this place. Was that what the priest meant when he said to seek out that which made him uncomfortable? 

He sat down on the steps and did what he had wanted to for awhile now. He sat down, and he sobbed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like playing with this concept and have so many thoughts about it. Because Crowley's life seems to revolve around Aziraphale (at least in the show) it makes sense that if they were to lose memories of each other, Crowley would have basically nothing whereas Aziraphale would still have some semblance of normalcy. It's fascinating and a great character study. Anyways, enjoy!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I'll respond to everyone's comments soon! Anyways, one more chapter and then this story will be over. I don't want it to end, but I also want to see Crowley and Aziraphale back together. So many choices, and only one of them is the right one.

Aziraphale didn’t know how long he sat at the Bandstand, curled up trying to recall things that slipped through his fingers as if they were water. It wasn’t like Anthony asked for this to happen. Actually, had he asked for this to happen? He couldn’t quite recall. Aziraphale didn’t like it when he couldn’t recall things. 

Still, Anthony had to do something. He couldn’t just sit here and do nothing. Then again, he wasn’t entirely sure what was going on. The Twilight Zone rarely had happy endings. He took a shuddering inhale and rested his forehead on his knees. 

“What am I supposed to do? It feels like everything is falling apart around me, even reality itself. Is this all some delusion? Am I crazy?” 

There was no answer.

The sun did not seem to be going up or down. There was no wind, no heat, no nothing. Just Anthony (Aziraphale?) sitting alone in a park. 

“Hello?” 

He snapped his head up. His ears straining for some sound to reach his ears. “I could have sworn I heard someone.” 

No one made a sound and the people frozen around him didn’t move. 

“Hello? Is anyone there?” 

There was someone! There was someone here that he could talk to! Azira-Anthony almost burst into tears, but he controlled himself. He did not want to scare away what might possibly be the last person on Earth for him to talk to. 

He stood up and started walking towards the voice. There was a man a few yards in front of him, wandering around, looking for something or someone. He was probably looking for what Aziraphale (Anthony?) was looking for. 

“Hello? Are you real?” he asked. 

The man whipped towards him. Anthony felt the air rush from his lungs. 

The man had curly blond hair. He was a bit round and wearing a cream coat with a velvet waistcoat underneath, the tell-tale signs of a pocket watch peeking out. It was like looking in a mirror. This was the first time in months he actually felt like he was seeing his own reflection. His voice wouldn’t work. Should he call out to him? What should he say? What should he do? 

Without realizing it, Azir… Anth… Aziraphale’s feet started moving towards the man. Slowly but then he broke into a sprint, his pounding footsteps echoing through the otherwise silent world. 

The man did not run away, he did not look afraid. Why did this feel like the missing piece? Why was he so desperate to be with this person? Why could he not remember anything. 

He crashed into the man, arms wrapping around his neck and kissing him as passionately as he dared. The man did not push him away, did not even seem surprised by this sudden display of affection. Instead, he wrapped his arms around his back and squeezed him tightly. A hand tangled in his hair. He could feel their hearts pounding together as they pressed closer and closer, until it was impossible to know where one ended and the other began. 

There was a tingly feeling unlike anything Aziraphale had ever felt before. His body was shifting and changing. Memories were flooding into him. 6000 years worth! He was crying now but his companion ( _Crowley, oh this was Crowley!_ ) did not mind. He was crying as well. 

They continued to kiss under the frozen sky, neither wanting to let go. Or perhaps they couldn’t. Things were rather fuzzy at the moment. 

Finally, they broke apart, though they were still pressed together, breaths mingling as they held each other. 

“Angel,” Crowley managed to choke out. “Angel. Angel. Angel.” It was like his own little prayer.

“I’m here, my dear.” Oh, this was his voice! This was his voice and his body and his memories. This was all his. 

Crowley squeezed him again, resting his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. Aziraphale ran his fingers though his hair. 

“What did they do to you?” Crowley said, shaking in his arms. 

“They made us think we were human. Except, we were in the wrong bodies. Crowley, I saw you on the ground and I feared,” he swallowed, trying to steady himself, “I feared they had found us out. I was so scared and worried.” 

Crowley pressed a kiss to his temple before burying his head back in Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Everything was wrong, angel. Everything was wrong and I didn’t know how to fix it.”

Aziraphale sighed. “I know. It was the same with me. Crowley, it was awful. Hell does not know you very well at all.” He laughed. Things were okay now. They could relax now. 

Crowley finally pulled back. Aziraphale hadn’t been wearing glasses when he had left Crowley’s flat, so he wasn’t wearing any now. It was nice, though. Aziraphale always thought his eyes were beautiful and wished he could see them more often. 

“Really? What’d they try and make me do?” 

“Lot’s of origies and cocaine. Also, you only had frozen foods in your flat.”

Crowley laughed. “The frozen stuff was definitely mine. I’m proud of that one. Your bookshop didn’t have any wine.” 

Aziraphale gasped. “All of it’s gone?” 

Crowley kissed his temple again. “I’m sure we can get it back.” He had already miracled the bottles in the bookshop to being more acceptable vintages. The bottles were surprised and confused by their sudden transformation. 

Aziraphale looked around at the still frozen people, his smile dropping. “I’m sorry, my dear, I think I did something, I’m just not sure what.” 

“You just froze time. I’ll unfreeze it for you, if you’d like?”

Aziraphale smiled at him in the way only Aziraphale could. Crowley was hopeless against those eyes and snapped his fingers. All at once, people started walking, and talking. Children were crying, cars were honking, buses were going by, birds were chirping. 

“Shall we?” Crowley asked, offering Aziraphale his arm. 

“We shall.” He took his arm and they walked back to the bookshop.   
When they arrived back at the bookshop, Anathema and Newt were still there (surprisingly). Newt looked about two seconds away from a panic attack and Anathema had a book of witchcraft opened and appeared to be attempting some sort of summoning ritual.

“Oh, don’t do that,” Crowley goaned. 

Anathema jumped and stared at them. “You’re back in the correct bodies?” 

“Yes, thank you, my dear, for your help.” 

“Really? That’s it?” she asked, furrowing her brow. 

“Why do you have both demon and angel summoning sigils on the floor?” Crowley asked, wrinkling his nose. 

“You were a demon in an angel’s body, excuse me for not knowing the proper summoning circle to bring you back. This isn’t exactly something that happens on a regular basis.” 

“Point taken, book girl.”

“It’s Anathema,” 

“It’s a mouthful.” 

Aziraphale sighed and rolled his eyes affectionately. “Thank you again for your help, but if you could scurry along now. Crowley and I have things we need to discuss.” 

Anathema’s eyes flicked down to their arms, still intertwined. “Thank God,” she said. 

“No need to bring her into this,” Crowley hissed. 

“I thought you two were never going to figure it out.” 

“I thought you said that you thought that Aziraphale was my husband!” 

“Only because I wanted to speed things along. It was exhausting reading all of the prophecies related to how and Angel and a Demon wouldn’t bone.” She grabbed Newt and pulled him out the door. 

Aziraphale’s face went red. “Bone! My dear, you do not need to know what we do in our private quarters.” 

“Come on, Newt. I need to get my next section of my thesis done.” 

“Bone!” 

The door closed and they were once again alone together. They stood there, for a minute, neither knowing how to break the connection. 

“Perhaps I should get us some wine and we could talk about what happened?” The last thing Aziraphale wanted to admit was his breakdown and suffering. He knew Crowley would get angry, but he wanted to make sure there was no more misunderstandings between them. 

Crowley made a noncommittal noise and went to sit on the sofa while Aziraphale grabbed the wine. 

They talked for hours. Aziraphale was angry at the loneliness Crowley felt. Crowley was angry at the things Aziraphale felt forced to do. 

“We’ll fix the environmental thing tomorrow,” Crowley assured him. “Politicians are easy to corrupt and sway. Don’t worry, angel.” 

It felt good to hear that nickname again. It felt good to be here again. It felt good to be whole again, not just because he had his body back, but because he had Crowley back. After awhile, Aziraphale started to yawn. Then Crowley started to yawn. 

“Despite my previous corporation not needing sleep, I’m afraid I’ve rather gotten used to it these past few months.” He could barely keep his eyes open. 

“Yeah, it feelsss great, just to ssshut off your brain for a few hours. I’m too tired to drive home. D’you mind if I take the couch?” 

“No, please, Crowley, please come upstairs with me.” Aziraphale stood and offered his hand.

Crowley smiled and took it. “How can I deny a request like that?” 

“We’ll have to figure out how to trick them again. Do you think they’re watching us now?” Luckily, because Crowley had been living as a human, there was a lovely, ornate bed big enough for the two of them upstairs. 

“We’ll come up with something tomorrow. Let’s sleep tonight.” And with that, an angel and a demon curled together on a comfortable old bed, dreaming sweet dreams for the first time in years.


	10. Epilogue

Gabriel had been getting these funny feelings in his gut for awhile now. Things were afoot. But what exactly was happening? He couldn’t be sure. There was no war on the horizon that he knew of, not that he trusted those demons to tell him what was going on. Still, war was a long way off. 

He snapped his fingers, bringing up his phone and calling Beelzebub. 

“What do you want?” they said. They never looked happy to see Gabriel and he was not offended by this at all. The feeling was mutual. 

“Have you checked in on the… the problem lately?” Gabriel didn’t like to talk about it. God did not make Aziraphale fall, which meant that she probably intended for this to happen. Did he do the right thing? He hated when ineffability was put into play because there was no clear answer, just God moving in mysterious ways and not talking to any of them. He dared not voice this opinion out loud. 

It was bad enough that Aziraphale’s defiance had stirred up the lower ranks of angels. Certain angels saw him as some sort of… role model. He loved all of God’s creatures, great and small. And he loved them deeply too. He even loved that demon. Gabriel sneered at the thought of that red-headed snake. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. This isn’t what Aziraphale was meant to be. He was meant for war, not for love. They all were, and yet he did not fall. And yet, Gabriel could not burn him. And yet, he still felt as though their problems had not been removed. 

“Why would I check up on that traitor and that angel?” Beelzebub spat out the word angel as if it was the dirtiest word in the history of language. When it was referring to Aziraphale, it might as well be. 

“Because, something’s not right. Something’s happening.” Gabriel looked around. He was alone. “Is your side planning something?” 

“Even if we were, we wouldn’t tell you. Would we?” 

“Got a point there. But, you’re not planning anything, are you?” 

“We’re not.” Beelzebub seemed genuine. They tapped their chin. “It’s been a few months since we last checked up on the traitor and the angel. What if they got their memories back?” 

Gabriel shuddered. Another failure in a string of failures. Was this all that he was good for? “I’m sure we’d be able to know. Wouldn’t we? I mean, we were the ones who took those memories away.” 

Beelzebub nodded. “Besidezzz, we made sure that there would be no reason for them to seek each other out. We have given them everything they need to live a happy life.” 

Gabriel nodded. Aziraphale would like stay in his bookshop forever if he could and he trusted Beelzebub to know Crowley well enough to make his own little, well, Heaven was the wrong word, but Heaven was the only word that really fit. 

“Give me the file on the demon Crowley!” Beelzebub shouted, causing Gabriel to jump. 

There was some screaming, a chain scraping on the ground, and some pained moaning. 

Gabriel brought up his own file on Aziraphale and went through it. It was almost exactly like what he had pictured. Over the past year, Aziraphale had established himself as a small bookshop owner. He wrinkled his nose when he read that the Queer community had dubbed him the “Angel of Soho” since his bookshop was a perfect place of refuge for all. He regularly went out to theater performances and operas and orchestra performances. He ate at restaurants regularly, indulging in gluttony. Gabriel felt his eye twitch. Was there a worse sin that gluttony? 

“Oh Satan help me,” Beelzebub muttered. 

“What? He’s not evil enough for you?” Gabriel said. Aziraphale was just as boring as he had predicted he would be. He was almost disappointed. 

“Yezzz. He’s become a lawyer.” 

“There aren’t a lot of lawyers up here, I can tell you that much.” 

“For the environment.” Beelzebub continued. “He’s fighting for environmental and ‘indigenous’ rights.” They looked like they were about to be sick. “He’s actually doing good deeds and is relishing the opportunity to wreck the careers of business men and other lawyers. Lawyers who go up against him have a 90% divorce rate and businesses that go up against him have a 65% bankruptcy rate.” 

“That sounds like he’s sowing the seeds of chaos.” Gabriel said. Divorce definitely wasn’t something his side approved of. And any time a company went under, people were out of work and often turned desperate and petty because they felt themselves wronged somehow. 

“Yes, but he’s helping people too. Worst demon ever.” 

Gabriel shook his head. As long as they didn’t have their memories back, that was all he needed. He pulled up a live feed of both of them. 

“Oh no.” 

“What izzz it?” Beelzebub said. 

“Oh, no.” 

“You can’t keep saying ‘oh no’. Tell me what’s going on or hang up.” 

“They’re both in St. James’ Park.” 

“What?” 

Crowley was entering in the East side and Aziraphale was entering in the West side. “Oh, we got to go and stop them. If they meet… ” 

“They might get their memories back.” Beelzebub’s eyes were wide and their face pale as a ghost. 

Gabriel sprinted out the door, hoping that Beelzebub was also heading to St. James’ Park. If they met, this would all be for nothing. They’d remember everything and be a nuisance. Heaven would never be rid of Aziraphale and his stupid, naive form of love. He was too soft and having him around permanently would mean the entirety of Heaven would become too soft. Gabriel couldn’t have that. Whether they fought Hell or something else entirely, Heaven had to be fighting fit. 

He couldn’t fail. Not again. 

oOoOoOo

Anthony J. Crowley was having a bit of a bad day. He was head of an extremely tough case. The lawyer he was going up against was good, shrewd. He knew how to play the law and twist it so that his client could get off scot free. Anthony had to figure out a way to stop him. If he failed, the shipping company wouldn’t have to pay for the millions of gallons of fuel it had dumped into the ocean last year, causing irreversible environmental damage. 

Anthony J. Crowley used to be a businessman working specifically with the development of factories in other countries. He cared nothing for the destruction he caused of the people he hurt. But something changed. While helping negotiate a new factory in China, he realized that hundreds of acres of protected land would be bulldozed for the site and hundreds of endangered species would likely go extinct because of it. He had had a bit of a breakdown, got fired, lost all his friends and a good chunk of his wealth. Spent a few days wandering around barefoot and high off his ass. 

Then everything changed. He cleaned up and got his life together. If he couldn’t convince his former friends and colleagues that what they were doing was wrong, then he would learn to stop them. Never again would innocent people be without a voice. Never again would he destroy the environment purely for his own gain. It was still hard. It seemed as though every company had a stronger and stronger law team and the cases often seemed impossible. But he won, time and time again. 

Apparently, he had wrecked a few marriages and caused a few companies to collapse in the processes. Maybe this would teach those big corporate business men to have some empathy every once in awhile. 

Today he decided to clear his head and go for a walk. Being in nature always helped him focus and gave him new ideas. He also heard that St. James’ Park was a great place to feed the ducks. Of course, ducks couldn’t eat bread, so he brought a mix of grapes and other goodies they could digest. Within an hour, he’d be back in his office, ready to take on the day. 

And then he’d go home to his empty flat and sleep in an empty bed without even a cat to cuddle with. 

He sighed, slowing his pace until he was stopped in front of the bandstand. He was a successful lawyer. He was rich. He was good-looking. He had a vintage Bentley for crying out loud! And yet, there was no one to share it with. Perhaps he was too focused on his career. Perhaps his standards were too high. Perhaps he was just a terrible person and no one wanted to love him. Either way, he was lonely and there were only so many nights one could go out drinking with colleagues before wishing he had something more. 

He couldn’t dwell on it for long. He had ducks to feed and cases to solve. With renewed purpose, he headed towards the pond. 

oOoOoOo

Ezra Zachary Fell, named after his grandfather, was taking his weekly stroll through St. James’ Park. He was a small used-bookshop owner, though he rarely let anyone buy anything, and had made quite a home for himself in London Soho. His bookshop, though not welcoming to customers, had grown quite the clientele of young people often scorned or threatened by society. He would never turn away someone because of who they love or what gender they identify with. 

It seemed he had gained a delightful nickname, ‘the Angel of Soho’. Sometimes, in the wee hours of the morning, there would be a knock on his bookshop door and he’d come down to find a poor child kicked out of their house because their parents couldn’t accept them. He’d always give them a cup of cocoa and a place to stay. It always worked out in the end, luckily, but it was hard seeing so many people come to him. 

He regularly visited restaurants around Soho, his favorite being a little sushi restaurant that always had the freshest of fish. The owner was delighted whenever Ezra would speak Japanese to him and Ezra was delighted when the owner would curate a menu especially for him. 

He went to the theater, Shakespear was always a treat. He went to the opera. He went to the orchestra. He went everywhere and did so many amazing things, but Ezra was still lonely.

He longed to have someone else to be with him in the bookshop, who was there because they loved him, not because they needed him. He did not begrudge his self-appointed duties, but it was tiresome to be surrounded by people yet always alone. 

Why was he still alone? He supposed he was a bit too odd for most people. Having an interest in misprinted bibles, Wilde first editions, and books of prophecy weren’t exactly hobbies everyone could discuss. 

Maybe one day he’d have a beautiful romance and be wooed and swept off his feet. And he’d do his fair share of wooing and sweeping off feet. He had always wanted to show up at someone’s door at night with a bouquet of red roses, soft music playing in the background as his lover delighted in a surprise visit. 

For now, though, he was content with his weekly walks to the duck pond where he would feed the ducks. Not bread, of course, but grapes and other goodies they could digest. Angel wing, such a lovely name for such a terrible disease. Poor ducks. 

So lost in thought was he that he did not see a man in his path. It would be hard to miss this man in most circumstances. He was lanky, long, lean, with good cheekbones and flaming red hair. He wore sunglasses that cost more than most people’s rent and snake skin shoes. Ezra definitely did not see his tight pants or his thin shirt. He certainly did not notice his tattoo on the side of his face. No, definitely not. He was lost in thought. 

So lost in thought that the two strangers crashed right into each other, grapes spilling out all over the ground. 

“Oh, gosh, I’m terribly sorry,” Ezra said, scrambling to scoop his grapes back into his bag. 

“No, my fault. I wasn’t watching where I was going.” The man was also scooping grapes into a small reusable bag. 

“Neither was I. Oh, I can be so clumsy sometimes.” 

“Really, it’s fine--” 

His sudden stop made Ezra look up, afraid he had accidentally given this poor man a concussion with his clumsiness. Instead, he found the man staring at him, his mouth slightly open. 

“Are you alright?” Ezra said, a little embarrassed. He was not used to being gawked at. 

“Are you an angel?” 

Now he was blushing. “No, I’m pretty sure I’m not. Though I am known as the ‘Angel of Soho’ I suppose.” He laughed. Why was he so nervous? 

“Yeah, it fits. You look… like an angel.” The man cleared his throat and looked away. “Sorry, that was awkward. I’m awkward, please, ignore everything I just said. I’ll be going now.” 

Ezra didn’t want him to go. He reached out and grabbed his sleeve. “Why were you walking through the park with a bag of grapes?” 

The man swallowed. “Um, yeah, well, it’s, um, it’s because of the ducksss. They can’t digest bread.” 

“You were going to feed the ducks?” 

The man swallowed again and nodded. 

Ezra chuckled. “I was heading there to feed them as well. Would you like to join me?” He got to his feet and held out a hand. 

The man stared at it for a moment before taking it and getting to his feet. “I’m Anthony by the way. Um, Anthony Crowley.” 

“Ezra Fell.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Ezra.” They walked towards the pond. 

Ezra opened his mouth, heart pounding in his chest. THis was his chance. A handsome stranger crashed into him and now they were going to do an activity together! This was his chance as securing a date. He had to make polite small-talk that would be intriguing enough for Anthony to want to know more, but also be something that Anthony could talk about as well. He could do this. He choose a topic, ready to speak. 

“NO!!!!!” Someone screamed. 

Anthony and Ezra jumped apart. Two people, one tall and dressed in an impeccable suit that appeared to be almost lavender in color and the other one dressed in the most strange assortment of clothes, including a particularly odd fly hat, were running towards them. 

“Do you know them?” Ezra asked, trying to think of what to make of the two people. 

“No. I have no idea who these guys are. Can we help you?” He put an arm around Ezra’s shoulder. Oh, how gentlemanly of him. 

The two came to a stop in front of them. Strangely enough, neither were panting. “You two met?” 

Anthony and Ezra exchanged glances. “Were we not supposed to?” Ezra asked. 

The two people exchanged glances. 

“Look, pal, whatever it is you think is going on here, just leave it, kay?” Anthony said, glaring at the two. “We have every right to be in this park. It’s a public space.”

“Do you not recognize us?” The person wearing a fly hat asked. 

“No. Never seen you before in my life. You?” 

Ezra shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t recall ever meeting either of you. I’m terribly sorry.”

The tall American looked puzzled. “Um, okay. Sorry about that. We must have gotten the wrong people.” 

With that, they turned and walked away. Once out of earshot, the couple smiled at each other, and continued on with their day. 

“Do you think they bought it, my dear?” Azriphale whispered to Crowley as they walked arm and arm out of the park. 

“Did you see their faces?” Crowley sniggered. “I though Beelzebub was about ready to have a stroke.” 

“I think we’ll be left alone for good now.” 

“Oh, definitely, angel.” 

Aziraphale beamed at the nickname. “Already with the endearments? We’ve just started in our relationship.” 

“Oh, and what date is it proper to start calling you angel, angel?” 

“I would think the fourth or fifth?” Aziraphale was beaming so hard, he was practically radiating Heavenly light. Crowley was thankful for his sunglasses. He was pretty sure you could see Aziraphale from space, or his brightness, at least. 

“Then I guess I have to take you out to the Ritz four or five times.” He leaned over and kissed Aziraphale’s cheek. It was so nice being able to do this without fear. 

“Wow,” Aziraphale giggled. “Four or five times? Do you think Ezra Zachary Fell likes the Ritz?” 

“Have you seen the identity you’ve created for yourself? Ezra Zachary Fell definitely likes the Ritz. Lucky for you, Anthony J. Crowley is very, very rich and can afford the Ritz.” 

Aziraphale leaned into him and Crowley had never felt more complete. “Really? That’s good to hear, my dear. Being a used bookshop owner doesn’t exactly bring in the cash.” 

“It would if you sold your books.” 

Aziraphale swatted him. Crowley snapped his fingers. A table for two at the Ritz was miraculously free for them. As they walked to the Bently, over the hustle and bustle of the street and the people, for the first time, a nightingale sang in Barkely Square. An angel and a demon were together at last. All was right with the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that, my friends, is the end of this fluffy, fluffy piece. I hope everyone enjoyed this fic. I loved writing it and I really loved this last chapter. It was so nice for Aziraphale and Crowley to just be together and happy. Have a great rest of your week!

**Author's Note:**

> Let's have some fun with that last episode. Like Gabriel would really let a traitor walk off without some form of punishment? Enjoy.


End file.
